“Not doing this,” he said. “Not cutting personnel and pulling back from missions. Not kowtowing.”
“That’s negative space,” she said in a careful, nonjudgmental voice. “You can’t define what you should be doing by what you’re not doing.” She leaned on the desk so their eyes were level. “First tell me this, Paul. Are we talking about home or about Op-Center?”
“Both,” he admitted.
“So you feel like your backsliding in two areas.”
“Yeah. At the same speed and gaining momentum.”
“Do you wish you were back with Sharon?”
“No,” he said without hesitation.
“Are you upset that she’s getting her life together?”
Liz was Harleigh’s therapist, so Hood was not surprised that she knew this.
“No,” he answered truthfully.
“You said you were kowtowing. To Sharon?”
Hood nodded. “To her, to the CIOC, to Scotland Yard, and when you leave I’ll probably feel like I was kowtowing to you.”
“Then tell me to go.”
Hood hesitated.
“The only way to stop backsliding is to dig down with your heels.” She stood. “Do it, Paul.”
“Okay. We’re done,” he said.
“Not good enough. That isn’t an end. It’s neutral.”
“I don’t see the difference,” he confessed.
“I’m still here. I’m still talking, aren’t I?”
Hood grinned. “Get out,” he said sharply. “Now,” he added.
Liz smiled. “One more thing?” she asked.
Hood could not tell whether or not this was a trap. “One,” he said firmly.
“Everyone is disoriented and retrenching,” Liz said. “Sharon, the intelligence community, the nation. You’re being pushed, but it isn’t personal—it’s partly fear, partly a sense of renewal.”
The intercom beeped. It was Bugs Benet’s line.
Liz turned to go. “Don’t be afraid to push back,” she said. “Aggression externalized is preferable to aggression internalized.”
“Isn’t that how wars start?” Hood asked as the intercom beeped again.
“No,” Liz said. “Was the American Revolution about tea? Was the Civil War about slavery?”
“In part—”
“Bingo. War is never about one thing,” Liz said. “It’s about one thing that was never addressed and became two things, then three, and finally exploded and consumed everything.”
She was right. “Thanks, Liz,” Hood said as he picked up the phone.
“Anytime,” she said.
Hood nodded gratefully as he took the call. “What is it, Bugs?”
“Chief, the White House just called,” Bugs said. “The president wants to see you in two hours.”
“Did he say why?”
“No,” Bugs said.
Being asked to see the president was not unprecedented. However, if Hood had any doubt about the wisdom of Liz’s advice, it evaporated when he asked who else was going to be there.
“Senator Debenport,” Bugs replied.
TWENTY-ONE
Washington, D.C. Tuesday, 7:30 A.M.
With the flags of Texas and the United States as his backdrop, the dome of the Capitol between them, bright morning light causing his gray eyes to sparkle, Senator Donald Orr announced his candidacy for president. A crowd of some two-dozen supporters cheered. Half as many reporters recorded the moment.
Mike Rodgers stood well off to the side with Kat Lockley. He had called early to tell her he was going to accept the job offer and she told him Orr would appreciate having him at the announcement. Rodgers was glad to be invited. Admiral Link stood anonymously among Orr’s supporters with Kendra Peterson. Explaining the presence of Rodgers or Link was not a concern. Kat had told the gathering ahead of time that there would be no questions. The press secretary had looked directly at Lucy O’Connor when she said that. Rodgers was not in uniform, and it was unlikely that any member of the press corps would recognize him, either as the deputy director of Op-Center or from the news coverage of the UN siege or the assault in India. Those stories had been about Op-Center, not about him. Rodgers had wanted to be here so he could see how his future boss operated in public. He was certainly impressed with the way Orr had handled himself in his two television appearances. Rodgers routinely taped both the Evening News and Nightline appearances on his digital recorder. The senator was a master of working the camera. He addressed issues directly and with clarity. When he was not speaking, he used a lowered eyelid, a raised brow, a slight pursing of the lips, or a slant of the head to express himself. Orr knew the difference between communicating and mugging.
“This will not be an ordinary campaign,” Orr promised after making his introductory statement. “It will be inaugurated—and I use that term with an eye on the future,” he said with a big wink, pausing for applause from his supporters. “It will be inaugurated under the banner of a new party with a new vision for the nation. The United States First Party, working for a new independence.”
There were cheers and strong applause from supporters.
Kat leaned toward Rodgers. “That’s the slogan,” she said.
“I figured,” Rodgers replied. “It’s a good one. Yours?”
She nodded, then turned her attention back to Orr.
“Our independence will be built on a framework that already exists but has been marginalized by legislation and special interests: the Bill of Rights and the American Constitution. Other nations do not understand our passion for these documents. They do not understand our passion for the freedoms they protect. They are accustomed to being dominated by kings or czars or warlords. We threw off a foreign king. We will not tolerate the dictates of other nations. We will not put their needs above our own. We will no longer be part of a globalization process that finds our values and our way of life reprehensible.”
There were more cheers and a few raised fists. Granted, these were the converted. But Rodgers liked what he heard. He could imagine that a majority of American voters would, too.
“Our party will be holding its first convention later this week in San Diego,” Orr went on. “Just as the USF will not be an ordinary party, ours will not be a business-as-usual convention. The doors will be open to all. Everyone who attends will have a vote. That is the American way.”
The group roared its approval.
Rodgers leaned toward Kat. “I assume you have a plan to fill the convention center,” he said. “What are there, about ten thousand seats?”
“Twelve thousand,” she said. “Four thousand people are being bused from Texas alone. We have a lot of support in Orange County less than an hour from the convention center—”
“John Wayne country.”
“That’s right. Our people there have organized a Freedom Freeway caravan to drive to San Diego,” Kat told him. “That should bring us another three thousand. We have smaller groups coming from other parts of the country, and we believe individuals will come just to be part of something new and exciting.”
“The press likes caravans of ordinary folks,” Rodgers observed.
Kat smiled. Like her namesake, Rodgers thought.
Orr continued speaking. Rodgers just now noticed that he barely consulted his note cards. He had taken the time to memorize his speech. He was using the silences to make eye contact with the crowd.
“There may be voters in my great home state who feel abandoned by this change in party affiliation,” Orr continued. “To those people I say, only the label has changed. The Texan is still a Texan. Don Orr is the same man. He is still a champion for the young who want to work and the elderly who don’t want to retire. He believes that service to the nation, to its industry and its economy, should be honored. To those Americans who do not yet know me, I ask that you listen to what we have to say over the next days, and weeks, and months. We are not vainglorious politicians interested in power. We are not puppets controlled by speci
al interest groups or special interest money. We are proud Americans who want to restore our nation to what it was and can be again. A country of scholars and adventurers. A land of bounty, not just in food and natural resources but also ideas. A launching pad of extraordinary new goals worthy of an exceptional people. A nation of justice and equality for the wealthy and those less fortunate, for the healthy and the infirm, for people of all ages.”
“Leave no vote unharvested,” Rodgers whispered to Kat.
“Perhaps, but the senator isn’t pandering, General,” Kat said. “He means it.”
“I believe he does,” Rodgers said. “In fact, I’m counting on it.” The general was doing more than that. He was responding to it. Whether it was his own situation with Op-Center or a general frustration with bureaucracy, politics, and a fragmented national focus, he was becoming enthusiastic for the first time in years.
“And finally, a few words to our friends abroad,” Orr said. “United States First does not mean United States only. We believe that a strong and vital America is essential to the health and prosperity of the world. But we believe our role should be as a beacon, not as a bank. We will be trailblazers, not nursemaids. The world is best served by a United States of America that is not a crutch but a foundation, strong and unshakable. This is the platform of our party, one that is designed to serve the proud people of our nation. Ladies and gentlemen, I thank you for your gracious attention today and in the days to come. God bless you all, and God bless these United States.”
As the crowd cheered, Kendra maneuvered the senator from the podium and reporters. Questions were being shouted about William Wilson, but they were being ignored. Kat was making notes in a PalmPilot about who was asking the unfriendly questions. Those reporters would probably find access to the senator restricted until that was no longer an issue.
Link had gone ahead to a waiting sedan. Kendra tucked the senator into the back of the black limo and slid in beside him. When they drove off, Rodgers followed Kat toward a table where beverages and snacks were available. They grabbed two cups of coffee before the reporters came by, then walked slowly across the lawn behind the Capitol.
“You know, if a major party candidate had said all that, they’d call it bluster and rhetoric,” Rodgers told her.
“That’s the difference between Senator Orr and the others,” Kat said. “Do you disagree?”
“Not a bit. I found it inspiring,” Rodgers said.
“Really?” Kat asked.
“Yeah. Especially the part about people not getting retired.”
Kat smiled. “You know, I didn’t even think of that.”
“I am curious, though. Why was Kendra running interference over there instead of you?”
“We wanted to make the senator’s departure seem like a security concern rather than blocking the press,” she said.
“That makes sense,” Rodgers said. At least in an image-sensitive Washingtonian way. “Meanwhile, what’s happening with the Wilson matter?”
“You mean did the other murder take the pressure off?” she asked. “Somewhat, though a few reporters privately wonder if we were responsible for both.”
“Were you?”
“Oh, absolutely,” Kat replied dryly. “This whole thing is like a homicidal ‘House That Jack Built.’ This is the candidate who hired a killer to slay the realtor to cover the assassination that got him the attention for the campaign that Kat built.” The young woman shook her head. “There are always—always—going to be three groups of reporters and commentators. Those who think you’re guilty of something, those who think you’re innocent, and those who think the topic is a sideshow. You only need the last two groups to stay in the race.”
“As far as public relations are concerned,” Rodgers said.
“Right. It doesn’t help if you’re actually guilty.”
Lucy O’Connor caught up to the two. She looked tired. Rodgers noticed the red light on her microcassette recorder was on. The tape was still turning.
“Good morning,” the reporter said. “That was a terrific speech.”
“Thanks. I’ll tell the senator you thought so,” Kat replied.
“Is anything new, on or off the record?” Lucy asked. She looked at Rodgers, and he looked at her. She repeated the question with her eyes.
“Apart from the senator running for president of the United States? Nothing,” Kat said. “What are you hearing?”
“A lot of backlash from the rush-to-judgment mentality everyone had yesterday,” Lucy replied.
“Did people really think Senator Orr was behind the assassination?” Rodgers asked.
“I would categorize it as a perverse hope,” Lucy replied.
Rodgers shook his head. “Perverse is a good word.”
“A story like the Hypo-Slayer is where above-the-fold by lines and book deals come from,” Lucy added. “Speaking of stories, General, are you ready to tell me what you’re doing here?”
“There will be a press release at the appropriate time,” Kat told her. “You will have it early, of course.”
“Any word on a likely running mate?” Lucy asked. “I noticed Kenneth Link was here.”
“The ticket will not be announced before the convention,” Kat said.
“Come on, Kat. Off the record. I promise.”
“Sorry,” Kat replied.
Lucy turned to Rodgers. “What about the Op-Center investigation, General Rodgers?”
“What about it?”
“I hear that a gentleman named Darrell McCaskey is on his way over to talk to Admiral Link.”
“What?” Kat said. She stopped, took her cell phone out, and speed-dialed the admiral’s number.
“How do you know that?” Rodgers asked.
“Friend of mine with the postal police was talking to him. McCaskey wouldn’t tell him what it was about. Ed thought I might know.” Lucy smiled. “He wanted to help.”
Kat had turned her back to the others. She was only on the phone for a few seconds when she snapped it shut. “I’ll see you later,” she said to Rodgers and Lucy, and hurried off.
“Come on, Katherine,” Lucy said, running after her. “I just gave you a major heads-up—”
“I know that, and I appreciate it.”
“Show me!”
“When I can,” Kat promised.
That did not make Lucy happy. Rodgers started after Kat, and Lucy tugged his arm. “General, I can help you,” she insisted.
“Thanks.”
“It doesn’t work like that,” Lucy said, giving him another tug. “You have to help me, too.”
Rodgers withdrew his arm and started walking after Kat. Lucy followed him. Her persistence did not bother him. That was her job. What frustrated him was something that was roiling in his gut.
“General, talk to me. Just tell me what you’re doing with Senator Orr. Are you working for him or for Op-Center?”
“What do you think?”
“I think that if you were working for Op-Center, Kat would have known about the Darrell McCaskey interview,” she said.
“Makes sense,” he said.
“I know. That’s a direction, but it isn’t a story. Give me something I can use. Anything. A lead, an off-the-record observation, a quote I’ll attribute to an anonymous source—”
“The Hypo-Slayer,” Rodgers said.
“Beg pardon?”
“Is that what you came up with last night when you said you needed a name for the killer?”
“Yes,” Lucy said. “It was the best I could do before deadline.”
“It’s good,” he said.
“Thanks. Now, how about it? Lend me a hand here.”
Rodgers stopped. “You know what? I’m out of the hand-lending business. It’s nothing personal, but I helped Japan. I helped the United Nations. I helped the entire Indian subcontinent. Do you know what it got me?”
“Not a lot of personal press.”
“I don’t care about that,” he said. He was about to
cross the fail-safe point but did not care. “It got me downsized.”
“You were released from Op-Center?”
“Released is what you do to a wounded condor or a seal with a coat of crude oil. I was canned, Lucy.”
“Jeez. General, I’m so sorry. May I quote you?”
“Why not? You can also quote me as saying that loyalty is missing in action, along with honor and integrity. Not just at Op-Center but throughout society. Real service is rewarded with lip service, and opportunists are calling the plays. I’ve been invited to join the senator’s team in some capacity to try to change that. I plan to accept because I trust in the American people to see the difference between arrivistes and people of character and principle. Close quote,” he added.
“Would you mind if I asked Paul Hood to comment?”
“No,” Rodgers said. “But Lucy?”
“Yes?”
Rodgers hesitated. He wanted to tell her not to make him sound bitter. However, he did not know how to say that without acknowledging that he was bitter.
The reporter seemed to read his thoughts. “Don’t worry,” she said. “I’ll make it come out right.”
Rodgers smiled softly.
Lucy thanked the general and left. Rodgers stood there for a moment, not sure how he felt. He had not planned to say those things, but then he had not planned on being downsized, either. Or losing Striker in the field. What was it Trotsky had said? The more time you have to plan, the more mistakes you’ll make. This came from the heart.
Rodgers jogged after Kat. He wanted to let her know what he had done, though he did not think she would mind. His comments were not about Orr; they were about Mike Rodgers and Op-Center. Besides, there was a benefit to what he had just done.
He was with them now, mind and soul.
TWENTY-TWO
Fallbrook, California Tuesday, 5:45 A.M.
For Tom Mandor, it was about the money. For Wayne Richmond it was about the money, but it was also about the danger. That was why he had gone to Alaska to drive a rig. That was why he came back to work as muscle.
At five A.M., he had left his cabin and had walked a quarter mile east, into the cold, dark hills. He did that once or twice every week in the late spring, summer, and early fall. That was when the peak was a place of perfect danger. Here, Richmond could confront as much danger as he wanted. He chose more than he needed just to test himself. Life should be a constant series of trials. It was the only way to grow, to be alive rather than simply act it. It was a way of controlling your adversaries and, thus, have a measure of control over your own life.
Call to Treason (2004) Page 15
